


i felt my lungs inflate

by SecretReyloTrash (BadOldWest)



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: A Fun Dark Rey Cameo, Ben Solo Does 1. Romantic Thing and It Horrifically Backfires, Bioluminescence, Canon Divergence, Dubious Consent, Empress Rey, F/M, Fuck Or Die, Married Sex, More Angst Than Actually Necessary, Poor Hapless Husband Ben, Reunion, Rey Takes Kylo’s Hand, Sex Pollen, Sex Pollen Related Consent Issues, Smut, Soft Dark Married Couple, Spooning, Stupid Noble Husband Accidentally Brings Home Sex Pollen, Super Inelegant Dorks In Power Couple Wrapping, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, Supreme Leader WHIPPED, This Is Only A Two-Shot Or I Will Be Killed On Sight, but soft, ‘annihilating’ in Space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:47:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23917024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadOldWest/pseuds/SecretReyloTrash
Summary: Supreme Leader Kylo Ren brings a gift back to his wife after a long journey away from her. Unfortunately they both have a bad reaction to it. An uncontrollable reaction, that stirs up more than just affection.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 55
Kudos: 474
Collections: Sex Pollen to the Rescue





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I just really like sex pollen, okay??
> 
> Title stolen from Sylvia Plath. 
> 
> Fun game: drink every time it's obvious the author was pretending she was still writing 'something beautiful but annihilating'.

He should have felt silly going to her in his cloak, his gloves, his mask. In his fist he gripped the stems of the flowers he brought in offering as fiercely as a saberstaff. This was the form that was what the Galaxy saw of him. They never saw him kneel. 

As he did to look upon her sleeping form for the first time in many weeks. 

The Supreme Leader had long cut himself off of the path of a virtuous man. His years of training from a cold Master had taught him to deny instinctive, human softness and vulnerability. And finally, when that Master had made him strong enough, the apprentice Kylo Ren cut him down to take his throne. 

There was a distinct armor around himself as he worked to drain that weakness from the source. These feelings scarcely existed—even in his memory—ever since he chose to be detached from them. 

The coldness of their loss he instead blamed on the world around him and not any particular sense of unfeeling he had steeled around himself. 

His Empress had, however, been denied so many virtues in her life, and in an attempt to introduce her to them, he found a rediscovery of those traits slowly unfurling in himself like the petals of a flower. 

Tenderness. Gallantry. Generosity. 

He watched her breathing slow and even in his bed. He couldn’t move at first. The rise and fall of her body with each breath was something sacred. 

He was learning how to come home to something when he'd never felt like he had a home to come to. He wanted to make her happy when he arrived. The flowers were an awkward gesture, but seemed to suit the situation just fine.

These abandoned traits felt silly to don for her at first. As much of a costume as any unfamiliar thing. He hadn’t mourned their loss until he noticed how the faint remnants of them sparked such sharp responses from his bride. 

His cape set around her shoulders, on a cold evening where they surveyed the view on their honeymoon on Naboo, warmed more deeply than the sleek black fabric ever could by merely veiling skin. Her shy look up at him as she clutched it around herself warmed him more deeply than if he had kept it on his own shoulders. When he covered her, it did not stop her body from shivering, but he knew the reason was not the chill from the lake. The shivering stayed with her until he was warming her from the inside and trickling hot down her thighs.

Sentimentality —which he claimed not to possess— selected this family home for the occasion. Sentiment Snoke had tried to beat out of him. Admitting it to her, a small detail in a grand trip, locked her eyes to him and a calm, peaceful smile fell across her lips. A personal detail. Small but intimate.

She loved the brutality of the man, desert viper she once was, but her heart was as warm as a Jakku sun and opened not in a frantic effort to soften him, but when he softened himself for her. He’d consider this debasement at the hands of any other being, subjugation, slavery: when he last bowed to Snoke he knew he would bow no more in the instant he killed his old master. But after she took his hand, Empress Rey was the only thing in the Galaxy to which he would kneel, at least if in the privacy of their quarters. 

How tenderly she welcomed him when he did. 

He had not mastered these virtues in himself yet, and gave them sloppily, sometimes rushing out of their quarters with a flush on his face when he woke in the morning and remembered the near-constant softness she had been witness _—and recipient—_ to for the length of the evening before. Rey would hide a smile as he hastily dressed and made his excuses. The Supreme Leader sometimes needed space away from his own shows of devotion to her: the power of them scared him. 

She wasn’t particularly concerned about it as he slipped away.

His vows would bring him back to this bed. 

His embarrassment wasn’t the only thing that tore him away from her side. His sense of duty did cause separations to sometimes stretch for too long. He kept in frequent communication on his lengthy trips, brought her along whenever he could, and doted on her with more to read and build and study in his absence than she would ever have the time for when he could not.

And his returns would bring her a virtuous man: gentled by longing, softened in need. Their habits of agitating each other’s more passionate natures seemed to grow over the lengths of time when he was present and tangible. But returning to her was always him at his most well-intentioned. Thinned of tension. Full of planning. Full of offers. 

He’d been away so long from his wife that this return she might be set upon by a monk. Green, confused boy that he was in a stone hut all alone once. His jaw was grim as each day away from her passed. The absence of these smaller virtues actually made him feel detached from himself instead of improved. Gone were her smiles, but what remained was the desire to make her smile, and when it couldn’t be satisfied he felt agitated.

Fear filled him, that she missed him and it hurt her. Fear that she’d get bored. Fear that she’d forget him.

It was a small labor of love to have the flowers brought, freshly cut and fully blooming, to have in his hand when he arrived from his ship. Worth every effort. The flowers, like him, had not wilted for her. 

A breed of nightbloomers called _Circaea._ Blue and sprawling and full of spindly purple spires. Similar flecks of purple coated the core of each petal and reminded him of her freckles. They glowed slightly, a bioluminescent variety that was extremely rare to find. Though he wasn’t sure he needed to express the difficulty to Rey, because he wanted to seem capable enough to provide luxuries such as these at any time.

Rey was awoken by the drag of the petals down her throat and over her chest to open her up to him. A strange, foreign tickle. She arched, sleep springing from her mind like a frightened animal, and sat up to face the offered bouquet. Her own face was light blue from the glow the blooms gave off, the only source of light currently in their bedroom. 

She raised her eyebrows at him as she took them and gathered them carefully into her hands. 

Rey pressed her face into the bouquet and inhaled their perfume while staring up at him. It mirrored a bow and from how low she dipped at the head and neck was deliberate. It made his cock respond to her immediately. Standing at the side of their bed fully dressed like a fool. It was the middle of the night for her, where night had become a muddle of relativity for him in the weeks of travel. 

He paused for a moment after she took the flowers and then removed his mask.

She was awake now. 

“Pretty,” she said, considering the flowers with a smile that was prettier, and glanced wickedly at him, “what are they for?”

_I remember them from inside your mind. Nightblooms. The mere dust of them, crumbling to the touch, was all you could ever get in a desert. It has never left me even for a moment._

“I was gone a long time,” he confessed, crouching at her side only to bring himself closer to her. It’s not an admission, it’s not an apology, it’s not a question: yet it’s all of them at once. “Longer than I wanted.”

She clucked her tongue and set the flowers carefully to the side of the bed. He could just catch the fragrance of them as they passed in front of his nose. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes not at their smell, but at her hands on his face, drawing him down to her with a tenderness he never could have found in the depths of himself if not for how she showed it to him.

There was a lingering scent between them and then all he could sense was her.

Amusement flickered in her expression when he tracked the fall of a nightgown strap from one bare shoulder with his eyes. 

He remained silent until the garment was still and then turned back to her.

“I like them,” she said simply, looking back at her flowers, and kissed him on his lips. 

He’d been desperate for that kiss for weeks. He trembled, vibrated, didn’t know what to do with himself with the madness of missing her. He kept it underneath the surface for his travels, though no one could praise the control of his temper during those times, and it was almost too much for him to hold on his own now that he could let it out. He feared letting it out. If she could take it all.

“Welcome back from your _very important_ trip.”

His heart stuttered as she pulled him close. He wanted his body over hers but it was difficult to claim with his wife taking up space on this side of the bed. He fumbled for a place on the bed that wasn’t crushing her, knees braced at awkward angles, his weight feeling unsteady, unable to sense his surroundings like when a loth-cat got its whiskers wet and they clung to its body. 

A better man wouldn’t leave her. A decent man wouldn’t twist the knife by telling her how much he longed to stay. 

“You weren’t too bored in my absence?”

She shook her head. As if the question was just as casual as he was pretending it was. Rey was like that. She wasn’t going to reveal the ache she felt without him if he wasn’t going to act like it should be there. 

He scooted her hip over from the edge of the mattress with his knee and grounded himself above her body.

“Boredom isn’t the hardest part of waiting.”

He’d anticipated an answer that would sting: this knocked the air out of his lungs. Rey blinked calmly up at him as a tremble racked his body. Enough to shake the bed, most severely in the place where he hovered over her, so she had to feel it all around them. 

He brought himself down to his elbows instead of up on his hands. 

A Supreme Leader could not apologize. 

Her husband should apologize. 

His Empress deserved everything. What if that meant a man who was not weak. The power that he wielded towards his own Empress frightened him more than his Empire, more than his seduction to the dark, or his call to the light. 

“Tell me the best part of waiting.”

As if he could bear to make her wait now.

Rey’s lips touched his cheek. “I’m told that patience is rewarded.”

 _“It is,”_ he promised, choosing his apology in this form, “dear Empress, it is.”

The Galaxy he offered her was a trifling compared to the man she wanted. The man he desperately wanted to be for her. She accepted his kiss, finally offered to her since he was now feeling he deserved it, and his body turned nearly-viscous over hers. 

“You’ve been very patient, and you deserve to be rewarded _however—”_

He sneezed. Not horribly, but a huff of air into his wife’s shoulder. And it was loud.

“—you wish,” he screwed his eyes shut and wrinkled his features in the aftershocks.

He had not saved the moment. 

She laughed softly. 

“Wherever you were, you must have had allergies,” she whispered cheekily, gently wiping away the stray tears of his now-watering eyes with a careful thumb, “poor thing.”

Only Rey could look upon a Supreme Leader and call him a poor thing. 

He still felt a little dazed from the force of the sneeze. There hadn’t been any reactions while he was away. It was odd that he’d carry them here. 

“Come hold me,” she whispered softly, “you must be tired.”

He was, _he was,_ but he’d been gone for so long. Shouldn’t _he—?_

She was pulling him down to his side with a sigh. 

“Ridiculous man,” she muttered, once again speaking merely of the Supreme Leader _and_ her husband. She tucked herself easily in his arms as he lay stupidly next to her: knowing he should be doing something but not able to summon it within himself to know what. _“Hmm.”_

The hum was pleased and sweet. Unguarded. It was what made him want to be a better man for her. 

He had been an apprentice so long, that the richness of the word _man,_ a word that he had long been denied, always made him shiver when Rey used it. Before her he’d been called a monster, a dog, a frightened boy. He luxuriated as much as she did with the term. To him it was all he accomplished: out from under any thumbs. It was the same for Rey. She had family. She had love. She had this man. 

This man lying limp in her arms with exhaustion. Relieved to have returned to her. Too tired to be of any use.

Rey was content.

She didn’t seem bothered by stopping before they started. He was, but she was right; he was also exhausted. He’d pushed the journey home to nearly double its planned pace. His piloting was risky for efficiency. The kind of flying that when observing his father as a child led to the scoundrel’s mumbled requests to not tell his mother about those maneuvers. Perhaps he should have slowed down, or come later, so as not to present her with a mess of a man in her bed. Ironically patience would have been rewarded by at least stamina.

But he couldn’t be any _later_ for her. Not when she was waiting.

He flopped onto his side and curled Rey up against his body. 

She felt so right in his arms, and they had achieved the rightness that would have been after lying together again, if skipping the steps that made it feel so much more.

Rey fell back asleep easily with him there. Her face was untroubled. It pained him to know intrinsically that this was what she waited for. Peaceful rest. 

His heavy eyes shut. The sweet smell of the flowers drifted over him like a balm. With tired eyes, he watched their blue glow until the short amount of time it took sleep to claim him was over. It was his last sense before he began dreaming with his Empress at his side. 


	2. Chapter 2

_ “Ben?” _

The name rarely came from her. Only the stuff of nightmares was what caused her to say it. Fear. Pain. Panic. It made her call for Ben.

He tried to ignore the sting when he woke up and cradled her when she was having a nightmare. He wasn’t the man she was asking for. It always made him feel blindly jealous for a moment.

She didn’t sound panicked this time when she woke, or scared, but sleepy confusion thickened her voice and he realized in a haze that name came to her as almost an instinct. 

And desperate. Her voice sounded desperate. 

He couldn’t think more deeply about it then. He had discovered the position they were in.

Her nightdress was pulled up around her waist and his body was grinding against her. He had been moving in his sleep, but this was like he had been wide awake and seeking his place inside her. Working her clothes up and touching her. 

Rey was shivering as he pet her. He should take his hand away. He was going to take his hand away.

She was so hot and wet for it and  _ whimpering _ why couldn’t he just take his hand away. He felt possessed, pressed as tightly to her as humanly possible, his fingers teasing her slick cunt and his cock moving to slide through every soaked inch that he could. 

“I’m s-sorry,” he felt like his jaw was wired shut. It was just clenching in his own skull. He sniffed, trying to clear his head, but a wave of dizziness took over. 

It was like diving out into a snowy tundra to part from her, but he tried to wrench himself away. Rey yelped and grasped his hand, securing it between her thighs.

Tight, muscular thighs then worried his hand between them like she needed his caress on all the places his skin touched.

_ “Don’t stop,” _ she whined, her throat arching back. She had almost fully dug her face into the pillow: but her body sought his. Her legs tightened around his hand and she dragged herself against him: touching herself with his hand if he would not.

He collected her closer in his daze. 

Her hair smelled sweet, like it was dipped in nectar. Dust had fallen from the petals of the nearby bouquet and glowed in her hair. He pressed his face into the soft strands. 

He almost went limp at the smell: at least in his limbs. 

Elsewhere he had never been harder.

“I want you so bad,” she groaned into the pillow, “it— _ hurts.” _

He growled in agreement and wrapped an arm around her waist. Overcome, he entered her roughly. Rey gave a high squeak when he was seated so deeply, after so long, but her body relaxed completely against his as if satisfied to just be  _ fucking. _

He tried to regain his sense when Rey pressed back against him, her legs tensed and pushing against nothing. Squirming. Kicking. 

His cock felt every little movement from the way it tightened her body around it.

“Do  _ you _ know exactly what’s happening?”

She arched into him as he slid a hand down her stomach. 

“Not a clue.”

At least she didn’t sound too concerned.

“Perfect,” he sighed into her sweet-smelling hair. 

She whined and twisted, adjusting her hips to better accept his length. He let her squirm around, for a moment too confused for this hysteria to  _ just fuck _ to let anything else happen. Rey’s hand danced in circles over her clit when she found the angle she wanted. His stayed on her body, stupidly out of the way.

Her cunt was warm and tight around him, which sent him into his own state, but to feel her respond to him was maddening. He pumped his hips with her curled in a little ball in his arms: how they had fallen asleep in such a state of exhaustion but now energized and frenzied. A feeling he did not have when he came back to their bed this night.

He pushed her forward at an angle and brought his arms under her knees, tucking them to her chest, and then frantically worked his hips up into her body. 

Rey fought against this tight hold for only a moment: he needed her like this. Just taking him. His sanity would be gone if he didn’t just keep her still and use her body. 

It was a little helpless, so she had to fight it, or make the effort before giving in. At least to feel like giving up was not for lack of trying. And usually he gave little allowances for her to win even if he initiated this kind of manhandling of her, he liked very much when she won, and she liked to lose when it was fun to lose. But this time he needed her to give in. 

His wife did readily. 

From her sounds, she certainly liked taking it. Her hands came over his behind her knees. She kept herself folded so small so he could lie on his side and grunt in her ear and listen to the slick sounds of his body and hers. His breath upset the blue stardust in her hair and it swirled around them. Their own galaxy.

“Nothing was beautiful until you,” he sighed, lost in the daze of light and heat and Rey, "not a single thing in the galaxy until you."

It didn’t make sense and it made perfect sense. He felt like he never could have put it to words before but something snapped and he just wanted to worship her and deserve her.

The angle of his hips had the little bundle that was his wife twitch against him and whine every so often. With careful hands adjusting her into a gentle cradle, he worked his cock at that same angle until a guttural sound left her chest. 

There. 

Easily, he rocked himself back and forth until Rey was crying, twisted mindlessly towards him, her face against his neck. Her mouth opened wide to taste his skin. She felt so  _ small _ in this position. He hoped this was as much for her as it was his current state of instinctual action. Let her need this, let him be uncontrolled yet capable, let him be able to take care of her while overcome with a lust he had never experienced before. 

Her legs cradled tight to her chest by his arms banding around her seemed to be all she needed to let him control everything. It was a lock she didn’t test. Limp and fuckable and his. Her lips were forming words that never left the silence between them. 

“Is it too much?”

She shook her head. 

“I’m still—not sure—what’s come over me.”

She shook her head again like she didn’t care. He could stand to not be so talkative: answers weren’t really coming to her easily. She arched her spine in his hold, he gripped her tight so he could still maintain his pace. Her body arching and his steadiness was all it took: that little movement was like she was waking to pleasure like a slow morning stretch woke her body every day. She trembled in his grasp. A rock slide in his arms. Vibration in her limbs and gravity that had her falling and a breathless sight to watch. He followed shortly after, dragged down with the weight of stone, happy to fall. Wherever he felt, she was already there. 

But that itch, irritation and restlessness, did not cease with their shared orgasm. He could feel it in the afterglow where he freed her limbs from his hold, the hot flow of his spend coming out of her trapped against the thigh of his that she clenched between her legs when he withdrew. 

This was somehow unfinished. 

Both were euphoric, laughing to themselves. Half-looking at each other shyly like they couldn’t explain to each other what came over them both, when really they couldn’t explain it to themselves. That was perfectly clear. It was why the communion between them had been so easy. No flirting. No teasing. It had already begun in their sleep.

Rey was fidgeting, scratching her scalp, biting her lip and looking at him guiltily. Her eyes were starved. He knew the feeling. 

His cock was pricking up towards her eagerly. Already...ready. But usually even he needed to catch his breath between—

“This is insane,” she shook her head. She combed her hair out of her face with trembling fingers. He almost laughed. His Empress pretending to be cool and composed.

He could tell by looking at her. She  _ needed _ it again. Insatiable thing. While going again right away was something they had attempted: it was easier said than done. They at least tried to treat each other sensually when not yet satisfied by the initial round, slowly kissing, him sliding down her body and teasing that  _ a husband’s work was never done _ when her thighs came to rest on his shoulders, ignoring it was filling the time he needed to perform for her again. It was essential. It was a part of all of this. The Supreme Leader was still human. Though that was something only his Empress could know. 

To compensate, maybe to stall, they could usually carve out some time to cuddle afterwards. He pretended to give it to her obligingly: though they both seemed to know he needed it more. The reassurance and calm would usually get the blood flowing to where it needed to: head or heart or places slightly lower. 

But her blood was racing, as was his. She was tense as a wild thing and then she sneezed—

_ cupped in her hands and embarrassed _

—before rolling over to face him.

There was a little flush over the bridge of her nose. Not that lust itself was to be embarrassed by: they’d long done away with embarrassment about it, though those first searching days of their marriage had often produced this same blush. Just about every time he touched her. 

It made him touch her more. 

He hadn’t seen it in a while. He’d missed it. He had forgotten that in making an Empress out of her, he had lost the hungry Scavenger somewhere in a hidden layer inside his wife. She still showed glimmers of it—only to him—but she tried to be regal when it was expected. She was a natural diplomat in love with a ruthless Supreme Leader: and there were things that were natural to her as a ruler that he couldn’t have taught to anyone. She was enthusiastic and curious about other planet’s cultures, quick to find empathy when recognizing sadness, quick to judge when viewing monstrosity. Someone who had never taken her pain out on others matched with a man who had only acted on his pain created a sense of balance. She centered him. Formed his heart. 

Awakened long-repressed gentilities like fetching an offering to deliver to the wife he had missed so much. 

She was not  _ regal _ next to him in their bed at the moment. Feral was a better word. 

The redness on her face now seemed to be over how she couldn’t control it, and didn’t know why, and neither did he. She tried, poor thing, but there was no denying it.

But he needed it too.

Rey got up on her knees and inched her nightgown up over her head. He watched, ready to grab her again with his lungs burning, but she shoved him onto his back and straddled him. 

She took his hands in hers to get her balance. Her eyes were half-closed in focus for a moment, and then she seemed to remember him. The look they shared was overwhelmed and amused. 

“We should be more curious about—”

_ “Absolutely,” _ she agreed, and gently lowered herself onto his still-hard cock.

The strangeness would go on to be ignored.

The slickness of his cum eased his entrance inside her. She was swollen, but not oversensitive, and nothing like she usually was when she’d already had him once. It was like they had never stopped, never been satisfied.

He felt his head fall back with a gasp over how soft she was. And hot. Was her blood coursing like his was? 

She was so small when she took him like this. Holding his raised hands for leverage, with his arms offering tension for her to work against. Hovering over his chest. Trying to get her legs around the trunk of his torso.

That dust from the glowing pollen dotted her chest and fluttered with every thrust of her hips. While one hand kept hers steady, he skated the fingers of another up one of her chorded thighs that worked her against his. Tracing patterns in the residue. 

She shivered. Her body danced above him: arrhythmic, grinding, desperate. He needed an orgasm like he needed air, and tried not to take this from her first. The control he’d gained over the course of their marriage completely evaded him now, it was like clutching for smoke between his fingers. 

This kind of maddening wiggling would have been fine any other night: it was unbearable like this.

“Get yourself there,” he warned, unable to articulate what was happening in his own body,  _ “please.” _

Rey fell forward and wrapped her arms around his neck. It was not as finessed as he wanted it to be for her, but her hips rocked with him still inside, her clit being worked by the grind against his body. It was a fervent and fast series of motions, her face buried in his chest and her body masturbating with his. It was filthy and depraved and so beautiful he tried to make a pact with himself that she should have to do this to earn her treat from him more often. Those hips fucking him fast, not deep, and not parting far enough to separate their bodies even for an instant.

Just him snug up against a spot that made her touch the stars.

He held her, mess that she was, beautiful thing that he loved, with his fingers tangled in her hair. 

“Is this what you do without me there? Swap the husband for a pillow? Your hand? A toy?”

He didn’t recognize the filth pouring out of him. He was ashamed of his absence when she had spent so much of her life waiting. He couldn’t bear teasing her for something that caused him so much guilt. 

Nails dug into his shoulders. Her desperate eyes latched onto his. She did not look pained by the question, even though he knew it should have pained her. She actually pursed her lips and whimpered up at him. 

The sight was not helping him stave off finishing. 

“ _ Pillow _ ,” she sighed against his skin. 

With a whine, he could feel her crest over the edge. Lightly approaching, not as massive a fall as before. He could tell by her shivering it felt like what it was: what she did without him.

He tangled one massive fist in her stardust hair and the other clutched her hip and evened out the pace of her thrusts. She was using him, he was using her. 

That seemed to be all she needed. 

Her second orgasm rolled into something more intense, like riptide yanking the calm seas into uncertain depths. Her hands clutched his chest and she gasped, folding into his chest for him to cradle all of her once again. 

Then he got his bearings and pumped his hips up into her. First a nudge just to feel her clench around him, and then more. Merciless pistoning that had her sobbing. His tongue was dry, he had sweat to the point he felt slick  _ everywhere. _

In the falling haze of his orgasm: it fluttered in some back room of his mind.  _ There’s something wrong about this. _

His body moved, unbidden, his tongue tracing the dust along her bare shoulder. 

With a roar, he flung off the trousers he had fallen asleep in. He'd been too frantic for her to remove them before.

That back part of his brain was steadily whispering; but it couldn’t be heard over all the noise. He had to have Rey. Had to  _ fuck _ Rey. And she begged for it. Thighs shaking, muscles tightening, her cunt so wet it was flowing cream into his palm whenever he cupped her sex. No matter how impossible this seemed to him before, time after time, he took his wife against the mattress. It was every fantasy made real and all at once. 

And all together capable of destroying them both.

He rolled them over and was hilt inside her again in an instant. With the same lethal quickness as plunging his saber into someone’s unguarded opening. 

This unguarded opening was a different kind of victory. Rey gasped as she was filled and her thighs tensed, her whole body in one long clench against the mattress. But her legs relaxed and she kept him there. She coughed like she lost air, blinking at him, that blue dust covering her cheeks. 

“Rey,” he whispered softly, touching his lips to her ear, “Rey…”

She wriggled underneath him, stuffed so full, coming like mad with no signs of ceasing. 

“I can’t stop.”

“I know.”

“Ben, no,” and that name brought him back to her panic, “I can’t  _ stop.” _

His back chorded with tension as he sat back on his haunches. Every muscle was alerted to her crying. Everything in the Galaxy was his: but his body was hers. It obeyed. 

Rey moaned pathetically as he withdrew. Her cunt was so red, spread open in front of him, her legs kicking in protest of the loss. 

Her face twisted in a sob as she reached for him, despite her frantic words.

“I want you back.”

It sounded like it scared her to need it and not having what she needed scared her even more. 

He shook his head. His control was hanging by a mere thread. He felt if he let go though would die like this. A foolish prince would smirk and say this was the way to go. But he needed to contain himself, no matter how drugged and stupid he felt, or how tempting she was even without any alteration to his mind.

He needed to do the honorable thing even if it felt like it would kill him. 

“It’s too much.”

He’d taken her every which way. Her mouth. The crevice between her breasts. Slotting between her thighs to try and give her burning flesh a rest. She’d rubbed that hot cunt all over against him in return. His thigh. His stomach. His mouth. 

It could not still feel like it wasn’t enough. 

_ “I need it.” _

Her back arched and he felt a piece of furniture on the other side of the room go flying into a wall. All it took was her outstretched hand to move it. He winced as it slammed and splintered behind them. If this continued, he’d be stunned and floating in the air, entering her through her own use of her powers.

Clarity pricked, a cool breeze that brushed his heated skin. This had all been abnormal: but now it was worryingly so. He wasn’t sure when this was supposed to end. If it could. What manipulation was causing it. Mindlessly fucking her forever.

He had to think like he was protecting his wife, not ruining her. Was it poison? Some drug left in their sheets by the most sadistic of assassins? The Supreme Leader and his Empress dying while disgracing themselves, corpses left with glowing smiles?

Rey sneezed and upset a layer of pollen dust that had accumulated since he had come home. A thick layer. 

The nightblooms. 

_ “Allergies,” _ he repeated to himself, remembering her fussing over him when he arrived. Then he tried to carefully sweep the glow that clung to her nose and cheeks free of her skin, but more of it fell from his skin to hers the instant he brushed it all away. 

Rey kept trying to coax him back to her body. It was hard to fight. In that moment it felt like how they belonged. Forever. 

“Ben. It hurts unless I’m cumming.”

He blinked at her. That’s how it felt. Cramping in his entire body unless he was directly in a state of orgasm. Spending as many times as he did didn’t ease the pain, so it wasn’t helping the pain, but intensifying it.

Another piece of furniture went flying without Rey so much as lifting a hand. He didn’t know what would kill them first. Their body chemistry or her powers when she was suffering with wanting so painfully.

“You want it to stop hurting?” he held her down to the bed by her shoulders as she struggled,  _ “it’s the flowers.” _

The struggle was erotic, even undrugged. Sweat and breasts and  _ Rey. _ The glimmers of bioluminescent dust. She was pinned. She was  _ his. _

_ Take her. _

At least now the part of his mind that was protesting ballooned, maybe because of the pain, and the temptation was merely a whisper.

She blinked up at him and he would have rather maimed himself than seen the sad rejected look in her eyes. Tears filled her eyes. 

“Ben. You’re killing me.”

He knew she meant by not touching her. That was what she wanted: to succumb. But it just cleared his head that his surrender was hurting her. 

_ No. Not that. Anything but that.  _

“Rey,” his voice boomed, filling the entire room, “the bouquet I gave you. It’s making us fuck like this.”

Her eyes then fluttered in a moment of recognition. He was so grateful to see  _ his  _ Rey in that moment. Both of them had overexerted themselves. Naked, sweating, probably desperately needing fluids. He wouldn’t be surprised if this madness didn’t usually stop until those having a reaction died of it. 

Rey’s neck chorded as she sobbed: then in an instant that terror on her face was gone. Swallowing back the tears, she raised her hand and called on the Force. 

Delicious fear sliced through him, as it had every time since they’d made this discovery about her together. Brighter than the bioluminescent flowers, a blast of pure lightning shot out of her fingers and the blooms disappeared in a puff of smoke.

The glowing went away. All was dark in an instant. 

Then it was strangely silent as if a humming in his ears went away. It seemed impossible seconds ago that he and his wife would know peace. But it came in the quiet. 

The air smelled burnt: the glowing dust was fried into a mess of black ash.

Their bed was a mess of sex and pollen burned to a crisp. In the morning the hospitality droids would probably conclude he had dipped himself in volcanic ash before ravishing his wife upon his return. Before then, he should probably call for a med droid to check their vitals. 

He pulled a pitcher of water through the air to his hand and helped her drink from it first. She was panting, as limp as silk spilling over his hand. He massaged her sore muscles and gulped greedily when she offered the water to him. 

“Are you alright?”

She nodded dizzily at him. 

“Are you?”

“Never better,” he replied, kissing her sweaty cheeks before folding himself over her body in exhaustion. This is a thousand times how he’d hoped he’d feel when he returned to her bed. Excessive, but now that they were safe, ultimately satisfying. 

She'd willingly married a monster after all: what was a little horror in their bed?

_ Pace yourself. Then next time you won’t have to bring her flowers. _

She groaned and wrinkled her nose. 

_ “Maker, _ how can you still stand to touch me after—all that—?

_ Next time, bring her with you. _

“I’ll never stop wanting to.”

Another groan, but softer, and her fingers moved tenderly through his curls. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” she said mournfully, suddenly aware as she gathered his head to her breast, “I burned your present.”

He laughed in spite of himself, resting his temple readily against the soft perch. He kissed her skin gratefully. 

“No harm done.”

**Author's Note:**

> Poor dumb well-meaning husband. 
> 
> We’ll get to the good stuff in part two. At first it was going to be a much shorter scene of him coming home but I LOVE setting the scene for their marriage and got a little indulgent, so now it’s a Canon Divergence AU that got hijacked by sex pollen. The formal tone here is also going to make the pollen have them behave...completely differently.
> 
> Circaea is a real species of flower that does not look as described here, but I use Kate Greenaway's The Victorian Language of Flowers as my bible and I liked the name for a space-sounding plant: Circaea means "spell" so I also liked it for its use as a sex pollen flower.


End file.
